


The Dark Times Can Be Bright If You Have The Sun By Your Side

by ShadeNeverMadeAnybodyLessGay



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison argent funeral, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Good Parent Melissa McCall, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Lydia Martin, Hurt Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Hurt/Comfort, Melissa mccall is the best mom, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) is a Ray of Sunshine, Scott and lydia find each other, Stiles Stilinski Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles Stilinski Leaves the Pack, Vulnerable lydia martin, Vulnerable scott mccall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeNeverMadeAnybodyLessGay/pseuds/ShadeNeverMadeAnybodyLessGay
Summary: Not capable of facing the things he did as the Nogitsune, Stiles leaves town after Allison dies, leaving Lydia with a broken heart and Scott feeling as alone as he has ever felt.In between so much lost, somehow they find each other.
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 6





	The Dark Times Can Be Bright If You Have The Sun By Your Side

"What do you mean, he's gone?" Scott McCall was going through a hard moment of denial. He was still wearing the white shirt and dress pants he had put on for the funeral, and his face screamed agony. He crumbled the letter between his hands, throwing it from his place in the living room into the kitchen, and turned back at Noah Stilinski, hands reaching out for his tie to lose it a little. He felt like he used to before he turned into a werewolf -was turned into one; chest tightening against itself, as if it was trying to crumble into a tiny ball and disappear just like Stiles' goodbye letter had done just moments ago. He gasped for air, hands searching in his empty pockets for something he already knew wasn't there. Without meaning to, his eyes searched at both his sides, expecting to see his best friend there. Stiles used to always carry around an inhaler just in case, only for him. He would always have it in him, and Scott had been more than once saved by it, because he was clumsy and forgetful, and if he hadn't lost it, he had forgotten it back home. But it didn't matter, because he had a best friend that at the tender age of eight made an oath with his mother, Melissa, to always carry one, swearing he would never let Scott get hurt. 

But his inhaler was nowhere to be seen, and Scott found it bittersweet how he could compare it to his best friend now: both things he needed to live, and they were both gone. One was easy to replace, but the other? It would always be missing inside his chest, no matter how hard he tried to fill it. 

Wasn't it ironic? The thing he always thought was permanent, was just a memory at the moment. Pieces of happy moments, small parts and feelings of the hard ones, all crumbled and mixed into the shape of one person that one moment was there, and the next he simply wasn't. Gone, as if he was never there to begin with.

At first, he had been surprised when he saw Stiles wasn't at the funeral, if not for him or Scott, for Lydia. Lydia Martin, the girl who had just lost her best friend and the boy she thought of as a brother. Lydia, the girl who used to terrify him, and at the moment he was terrified for. But Lydia was okay, because she had Stiles, her loyal boyfriend who had been there for her since the beginning; since she was attacked by Peter Hale and turned into a banshee by force. 

Or so he thought. 

After years and years of pinning and planning, Stiles finally got the girl, and half a year later he was gone, no doubt taking her heart with him, or at least a piece that would forever prevent Lydia from feeling more like a mismatched pair and less like a whole, independent person.

"Scott, please, take a deep breath," his hands, callused and tanned by the sun and the passing time, pushed him until he was sitting on the sofa. The was still breazing, his shaking hands pulling onto the tie until he heard a ripping noise.

"Oh, god," he said, holding the dark cloth in his hands, trying and failing not to compare it to how his life was at the moment. One simple tug had been all it took to completely crumble at the pleasure. "It's broken," he said, tears falling freely into the dark material. "God, it's broken. Mom was supposed to return it tomorrow. It's a rental. We- we don't have the money for a suit and- and-" he took a longer breath in, but it felt like he was breathing in fire; his lungs burnt. An idea crossed his mind. "Allison- she's good at stitching- she- she stitched me up once. She's good at it, she can- she can…"

But the words died in his throat. There was no present tense with Allison, not anymore. Now, everytime he wanted to speak of her, it would be with past verbs. _Yeah, Allison used to… I remember Allison once said… Allison was..._

This couldn't be happening. _Where the hell was Stiles?_

"We can fix it," said the Sheriff, hands wrapping the young boy's ones, and at the moment it was all it was keeping Scott from completely slipping away. "I'll pay for it."

"It's not about the tie!" he screamed, eyes flashing red. He could already feel all his sadness slowly turning into anger. How could Stiles just up and leave him when he was at his worst, when he wasn't even himself.

A little voice in his head completely destroyed him. _Because he's also not being himself._

"I'm sorry, Scott," his voice was full of pain. Sorrow for the son that, even if was still alive, he had lost, pity for the boy was also a son to him, that had to suffer the loss of two important people in the span of mere, timeless hours. Shame, for being the sheriff, someone who was supposed to protect everyone, and incapable of saving the two kids he cared the most about in this world.

"I-" he gasped again. But it was okay. Stiles was being irrational, acting without thinking things through as he always did. Once he was home, he would pretend to sleep and the moment the sun washed through his window like it had a Midas touch, turning everything into gold, he would be back. Because he would never leave him. He would never leave Lydia.

Stiles would be back. He would be. He _had_ to.

"I have to go home," he said, getting up so suddenly Noah, who was kneeling by his side, stumbled and almost fell to the ground had it not been by his quick reflexes. "My mom- she's probably wondering where I am. I left her alone after the funeral to go find- him."

"I'll drive you home, okay?" offered the man, searching for his keys. Scott shook his head. Being locked down with the man who was like a father to him, in the same car Stiles and him used to trash around on their way back from school was the thing he least wanted at the moment.

"No, no," he shook his head, eyes searching for the tie. Once he saw it, laying on the ground, he crunched down to grab it between his hands, treating it like the most delicate thing. "I'm fine- I prefer walking. Will probably make me feel better."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be at the moment."

* * *

Scott felt like a shell of what he used to be. His feet raised and felt as if they weighted pounds each, yet he somehow still felt weightless, and if it wasn't for the shadow that the sun on his back was projecting into the pavement, he would be sure he was bodiless, a forever-gone soul trying to find someone who could share his pain.

Selfishly, that was what he was doing. Walking to the only other person who could understand him, the only person who was still there for him.

Lydia Martin.

Over the years, that name had evoked different emotions inside of him. At first he was indifferent to her, seeing her as just another popular girl who he would never cross paths with. But then, Stiles took one glaze at her strawberry blonde locks and he had been left mesmerised. During lunch at the first day of third grade, Stiles had unceremoniously dropped his tray food onto the table and declared he was completely and utterly in love with her. _"I swear I'm going to, Scotty,"_ he said. _"I'm going to marry that girl someday."_ And just like that, the name Lydia turned into a complete nightmare to him. It seemed for years all Stiles could talk about was Lydia. _Lydia did that, Lydia said that, Lydia is so smart…_

But then, that annoyance turned into complete resentfulness. He decided that that girl was only trouble one day after seeing her ignoring Stiles as he tried to start a conversation with her, for the seventh time that week (it was only Tuesday). It never occurred to him until that moment, being the loyal to a fault friend that he was, that maybe she ignored him because she simply wasn't interested, and Stiles didn't know how to take a hint even if it was thrown at his face with sharp words of _"Leave me the fuck alone, Stilinski."_ Now it was easy to see that maybe Lydia wasn't the bad guy, the heart of stone bitch Stiles used to portrait her as back he was an immature boy, and simply just a girl who didn't like a boy, and that boy didn't leave her alone.

And then Allison arrived, and all those feelings flipped and turned into a warm feeling of protectiveness. All because of Allison, the girl he was in love with, and the girl that treated Lydia like only a big sister would treat their baby sister. He recalled Allison telling him about Lydia one afternoon in his room, saying how the strawberry blonde was just a lonely girl that needed the family she had grown up without.

And, once he arrived at her house and rang the bell until he got tired and invited himself in, and saw her mother nowhere to be seen, he realised how true Allison's words were.

Lydia was the most alone out of all them, because even if he grew without a father, even if Stiles lost his mother when he was just a kid, at least they had a parent who actually cared. Lydia, on the other hand, only got a mother that only fought for her during her divorce to prove a point to her husband, to make sure he knew she had won.

Scott swallowed, knowing he had to go upstairs and tell her someone else had decided to leave, that she had been left behind again, this time by the boy who promised to always be there for her.

Life wasn't fair. Especially not for Lydia.

Finally, he worked out the courage to walk up the stairs. He walked down the corridor and stopped in front of a small mirror attached to the wall, taking himself in, mind too fuzzy to understand that the person staring back at him wasn't an extra from _The Walking Dead_ , but himself. The new version of himself that he would never wish upon anyone, not even his worst enemy.

He stood in front of the girl's door, his hand raising to connect his knuckles with the wood that separated the room from the corridor. When he again got no answer, he opened it, ignoring the voice in his head that kept telling him that everything would be so much easier if he just walked out of the house and sent her a message. But really, how could he do that, after everything they've been through together? How could he break down the news? Would a text like _Yo, Lydia, Stiles left town cause he's so depressed he can barely breath. Cyl_ be enough?

No, of course not. No amount of words would ever be enough to cure her broken heart. Lydia deserved everything, and he couldn't give her that, but the least he could do was give her a proper explanation so she could heal with time by her side.

"Lydia?" he asked, entering the room and seeing it empty. A sinking feeling washed over him when he heard someone sobbing in the attached bathroom. The noise was muffled, and had he been a normal teenager he probably wouldn't have heard it. But he wasn't a normal teenager. Not anymore. Hadn't been for a really long time.

He shook his head, eyes on the door. He couldn't do it. He couldn't see Lydia Martin cry. Lydia, who had stepped up and helped Chris Argent organise the funeral and the reception because she knew he was mourning too much to even think properly, who had talked with a crazy amount of other Argents all around the world to make sure no one would miss the funeral; Lydia, who had taken care of everyone else and had hide how broken she was inside; Lydia, who hadn't even cry as they lowered Allison's casket. The same girl who had fought with Eithan to have Aiden buried properly, who had screamed at him that he was much of a family to her, that he was to him. Lydia, who now had a portion of Aiden's ashes in her room that Scott was sure she would always carry with her wherever she went, like a physical reminder of everything she had lost.

Lydia, who remained strong when everyone else was broken, had finally broken down.

And that was the most heartbreaking thing in the world for Scott.

Shaking his head, Scott took a few steps and opened the bathroom floor, finding the girl sitting on the floor, back against the wall, shaking with how hard she was crying. His heart broke, and then it stopped when he saw she was bleeding. He rushed to her, kneeling by her side and holding her hand in his, inspecting it. There was glass stuck on her knuckles, and from her palm there was more blood poring.

"Lydia," his voice seemed to finally make her snap out of her sadness-induced loop.

"Scott?" She asked, voice raspy and low, and it reminded the werewolf oddly to when she would first speak after screaming one of her banshee screams. It seems she hadn't spoken since she left the graveyard, giving everyone rushed goodbyes and "see you soon's". She sniffed, and tried to clear her voice a few times, apparently aware of his train of thought. "What are you doing here?"

"I-" he shook his head, deciding it was not the time to talk about Stiles. They would talk enough about him when he'd break the news to her. He needed to focus on her now. "Here, let me," he said, his hands softly opening hers to get the long, sharp piece of glass she was clutching onto for dear life out of her reach. He set in on the floor, and got up, carrying Lydia with him as he did.

"Scott," she said his name like a prayer, like he was bringing fresh air onto her lungs after days of breathing under water. She must have felt so alone, the alpha guessed, so alone that having someone there was more than enough for her.

"I'm here," he said, and the tone of his voice made it sound like a promise. He didn't regret saying it, though, not even a little bit. He had broken many promises, but he would always be there for Lydia, if not for him, for Allison.

"God, Scott," she was so weak she was leaning all her weight on him, and it concerned him how little she weighed. She rested her face on his chest, and she took comfort in hearing his heartbeat, rapid and strong. It reminded her that he was alive; that, even if she had lost so many, at least there was one person there. The beat of his heart created a perfect psymphony, the song without lyrics that was constantly telling her she was alive.

Allison is dead. _But you're alive_. Aiden is dead. _But you're alive._ Everyone I love ends up leaving. _You're still breathing._ I can't do this anymore. _You had to, for them._

"Let me take care of that," he whispered, allowing her to keep resting against him, and Lydia took the chance to close her eyes, and let his heartbeat calm her a little. It felt nice, and she wasn't in the mood to turn down anything that felt nice, no matter what it was, no matter if it felt wrong to feel this good with her dead best friend's ex-boyfriend's arms wrapped around her.

He was meticulous, holding her hand and cleaning it, first with water and then using denatured alcohol to clean the wound. He bandaged it carefully, and Lydia had the impression he was hyper-focused on it because it was an easy task he could to avoid all those unpleasant thoughts that wanted to make their way into his mind. Poisoned daggers full of painful _what if's_. She knew it, because that was exactly what she had been doing ever since she felt Allison's death cut through her entire being like she was being quartered into tiny pieces by a psychopath.

 _Allison_. Prepare the funeral. _Allison_. Talk with Eithan. _Allison_. Speak with the Argents that lived in France. _Allison_. Make sure Chris is holding up. _Allison. Allison. Allison_.

"There you go," he smiled, holding her hand between both of his. His hands were soft yet callused. They were like the perfect juxtaposition, and held the heat only a werewolf could have. They were comforting in their lack of familiarity with her skin.

"Thanks," she whispered against the dark cloth of his t-shirt.

Scott looked at the bathroom mirror, or at least what was left of it. Pieces of glass showered the entire floor. "Nice left hook," he commented, trying to cheer her up. He was thankful by her obvious fake laugh; at least she was pretending, for him.

"Well, what can I say?" she raised her head and took a step back, looking into his eyes. "I can be scary when I'm upset."

"I can only guess," he smiled. He noticed her eyes traveled to the door and stayed there for a few seconds, as if she was expecting to see someone walk through it.

"Stiles," Lydia said, voice lacking any type of emotion. "He's not coming, is he?" Scott swallowed, looking at the girl, who didn't seem sad, or angry, but completely and utterly resigned to the new hit life has thrown at her. She almost looked like she had been expecting it, like she was just waiting for the new turn of events to try and break her spirit.

"No."

"He left, didn't he?" she asked, voice small and soft, and Scott was beginning to question if maybe the reason she was crying on her bathroom floor was not only because of Allison and Aiden.

"He- He had to," he said, his best friend code still present. Stiles was a dick for pulling this shit up, but if Scott was anything he was loyal. "He had some things to work through."

"He didn't have to leave, but he did anyway," she said, walking towards the door. Scott stood there, momentarily astonished by her words. "He left without even saying goodbye. But he's not Allison. He had a choice. He could have done at least that."

"He's a dick, but he had just been possessed-"

"Yeah, I know," she unceremoniously dropped herself into her bed, red curls like a halo around her face. "I was there. Said possessed man kidnapped me."

Scott physically cringed, deciding maybe bashing out a little about Stiles would make him feel better on the short run. He could always apologise once he came back -if he ever came back. The werewolf was starting to question it.

"He did say goodbye," said Scott, walking to the bed and laying by her side. "Left a note."

"Oh, great, now he's like one of those one-night stands that get up early and only leave a note and no phone number to call," she sighed. "Where is it?"

"What?"

"The note, duh."

"Oh," Scott felt his cheeks burnt up. "I- I kind of threw it away at Stiles' house after reading it."

To his utter surprise, Lydia started to laugh at his words. It was extremely loud compared to her normal, giggle-like laugh he was used to hearing, but it felt nice to hear her let out a noise that wasn't born from pain.

"Good to know," she said, resting on her side so she could stare at him. He could smell behind all the sadness and nervousness that made her copy her actions so he could inspect her face.

"What's wrong?"

"What's _not_ wrong, McCall?" she rolled her eyes, completely red, no doubt a combination of not sleeping in days and crying. Her checks shone against the light that entered through the window because of the tears that were yet to dry on her skin, and her button nose was red as well. She looked vulnerable, and Scott felt oddly proud of being able to see a side of her that seemed so personal.

"True," he closed his eyes momentarily, taking in her scent again. "But I can tell you're nervous about something."

"You and your werewolf powers," she rolled her eyes, but then she was all shy, lower lip between her teeth. "Could- Uh, can you stay the night with me? I really don't feel like being alone right now."

Scott didn't have to think it much. He would never forgive himself if he allowed Lydia to be left alone after everything she had been through, especially when she was asking her to stay.

"I'd do you one better," he smiled, getting up from the bed. "Come to my house, mom has taken the week off from work. We can help her cook lunch, and you can stay as long as you want to," he stopped for a moment, considering his next words. "If that's okay with your mom."

"She won't be back until next month. Went to visit some relatives, took Prada with her," she said, also getting up. "Are you sure your mom would be okay with having me over?"

Scott laughed. "Are you kidding me? She's a latina mother, she _loves_ having people over she can pamper."

Lydia walked to her desk, getting all her school supplies out of her bag before filling it with clothes. After a few minutes, she turned around, bag on her hand.

"I'm ready to be pampered around by your awesome mom."

* * *

Lydia experienced for the first time what it was like having a mother that actually cared. Of course, there was Allison's mom, who was nice enough every time she saw her, and always asked her about her day and how she was doing at school, but never nothing outside that.

Melissa McCall was _the_ mother. No one could ever come close to her in the way she cared for anyone her son cared about. The playfulness and connection between son and mother surprised Lydia as she thought back to when the three of them were in the kitchen, cooking way too much food that they ended up leaving half of it for dinner. They spent the afternoon watching comedy movies together, and when she drifted to sleep, she woke with her head on Melissa's lap, her long nails slightly scratching her head, her feet laying against Scott's tights, his hands firmly pressed against her calves.

And for the first time since Allison died, she allowed herself to sleep peacefully, without nightmares sneaking in.

After dinner, Melissa excused herself, complaining she was no longer a teenager with unlimited energy. She kissed both their cheeks and walked to her room after seeing her goodnight's.

They followed shortly after, the momentary happiness leaving to leave room to the thought they had been chasing away all day. Lydia changed in the bathroom, and once Scott said he was done, she walked out and, gathering all the confidence she had left, walked to his bed and laid there, patting her side when she realised Scott was going to just stand there if she didn't give him clear instructions.

"It's been a long day," she stated the obvious. "Let's rest for a while."

Scott nodded, noticing it was his own thoughts that were making things awkward for him. _She had just been abandoned by her boyfriend, her best friend is dead and so is the dude that treated her like a sister; she just wants someone to remind her she's not alone,_ he told himself.

And so he did. He laid by her side and held her. Lydia rested her head on his chest. "We will be fine, right, Scott?" she asked, voice small and soft.

Scott swallowed, wanting to say so many things. _Of course, as long as we're together._ Or _Everything happens for a reason._ Even something as cliché as _If we have each other, that's all we'll ever need._ Anything that would make her feel better, but nothing came out of his mouth. He was too emotionally drained to lie, and the least thing Lydia needed at the moment was her alpha lying to her.

Instead, he kissed her head. "I'm not sure, Di."

Scott, the annoying optimist, had finally lost all hope of a brighter future. Because, if Stiles wasn't there, _what was the point_?

* * *

Lydia's mother used to always tell her everything was good as long as the strong ones remained standing. But what to do when even those strong and full of life throw the towel?

She wished she knew the answer. She wanted so badly to have her mother there, to rest her head on her lap and cry, and feel like a little kid again, where her only concern was that there was gum in her hair and they'd have to cut it short. But her mother wasn't there. She never was, never had truly been for that matter.

That used to not bother her, because at least she had Jackson. He brought the worst in her most of the time, turned her into someone she didn't like being, and never truly appreciated her when they were together, but he was at the very least concerned about her, carrying even, despite all his problems and issues. And then off to London he went, but it was okay because Allison was her best friend and they would be together forever. They were already planning to move in together once they were in college; they would take a year off to travel through Europe and then get in the best university and live their best lives, always by each other's side. But life cut her plans short. And, even if Allison's death hurt like hell, at least she had Stiles, the boy who had always been there, even before she realised she needed him.

But, of course, he had to leave too. No, not _had_ to. He left, simply just because he wanted to. Just like Jackson, just like her father, but unlike Allison.

There was solace in knowing Allison never intended on leaving her. It still hurt like hell, and her phone had so many photos of them together it was hard to even look at it, but she keep holding on it because she knew those were her last memories of Allison, and she would be damned if she would let anything related to Allison slip through her fingers if she had any said on it.

When she woke up in the morning, all those thoughts kept on running through her head, until she felt a warm body behind her, and for a moment her stupid mind lead her to believe it was Stiles. But it wasn't. It was Scott, and for some reason she didn't find it strange, lying in Scott McCall's bed, him spooning her. It felt nice. It made her feel loved, cared for, and for the time being, she would hold onto it until she couldn't anymore.

* * *

The first time they kissed was during their first visit to Allison's grave. It had been months since she died, they were well into the summer break, but that was the first time they even got close to the graveyard since the funeral.

Lydia spent a ridiculous amount of time choosing the flowers, and even more pampering herself up. She even dusted off her best heels, because she knew Allison would kill her if she ever visited dressed like she had been dressing those past months; in sweatpants, with hoodies that most of them belonged to Scott and Stiles, and flat shoes on the rare occasion she went out. No, her best friend would want her to be herself -the version of herself, and even if it was ridiculous, even if she knew Allison wasn't there anymore and they were only visiting a dead piece of meat that would never feel or laugh like her best friend used to do, she took comfort in knowing she had new reasons to think of Allison through an optimistic point of view.

Scott knocked on the open door, catching her attention instantly. He was wearing a buttoned-up white shirt, dark jeans and a slight smirk on his face. It wasn't completely real, but it wasn't fake either, and Lydia thought that was more than enough for the moment.

They were healing. Not fast, but at least not as slow as she originally thought. She could breath without feeling as if a knife was cutting her in half; she could stop her self-indulgent, guilty thoughts that all started with a simple, stupid _"What if…?"_

"Hey," he said softly, getting a tie out of his back pocket. "I don't know how to tie a tie. Do you?" he scratched the back of his head, a small red tint washing over his usually tanned checks.

"Yes," she smiled, similar to Scott's; not really there, but enough to know there were actual feelings behind it and it wasn't just because. "Let me," she walked to him, face a little bit closer to hers now that she was wearing heels. Scott handed her the tie and she did the knock in a few easy steps, like she always did for Jackson when they had dinner with his parents. After she was done, her hands smoothed over the little wrinkles of his shirt, indicating he had been the one to iron it, and clearly hadn't been the best at it. Her hand stopped at his heart, mind focusing on the beat of his heart and not in the way his muscles seem to react to her.

"I ironed it myself," he felt the need to add. "Alli- she said once she'd love to see me do chores because I suck at them and… I thought she would have appreciated," he said, voice a little low to match his emotions.

"I know," she said, a little smile creeping into her face. "That's why I dressed up. She always said she loved my fashion style so…" she cleared her throat, keeping the tears at bay. "All done," she said after a few minutes, and she lightly kissed his cheek, leaving a stain of lipstick there. "Let's go."

They got in Lydia's car, and Scott drove. The drive was silence, but it didn't feel awkward or tense -it was silence that did not need to be filled by meaningless words; over the last few months, they had grown past the need to create some small talk. They've talked and talked, and laughed a little and cried a lot, and that had united them in ways Scott could never thought he would be united to someone else.

Once the car got to a stop, they got out of the car, but Lydia stayed still, hand glued to the door. She was looking ahead of her, eyes once again filling with tears.

"I can't," she said, shaking her head. Scott left the flowers resting on the car and rushed to her, grabbing her hands in his. He ran his fingers over the tiny scar she had on her knuckles from when she had punched that mirror, and looked into her eyes, so green Scott was sure one day he was going to get forever lost in that forest. "Scott, I- I can't."

"Hey," he said softly. "It's okay. We can go back and come another day; we don't have to go back there ever again if that's what you want, okay?" she nodded, sniffing a little.

"I'm sorry," she said. "God, I'm such a mess," a watery laugh escaped her lips. "Let's go. I want to see her."

Scott smiled sadly, and nodded. When she started to walk away, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her to him, her head resting on his chest. "You can cry," he whispered. "I know your mascara is waterproof."

And Lydia laughed, a real, head-tilted-back full laugh that made Scott beat faster because it reminded him too much as to when she used to be just a popular girl. Lydia was coming back, and she wasn't doing it alone.

"That's true," she agreed. "I'm always prepared for any scenario," she raised her head, and maybe it was because they had just been talking about her make-up and her lips had an intense red tint on them, or maybe it was because the laugh for earlier had left some left-over happiness in her face, but Scott couldn't look away from her, or her lips.

"I-" there were so many things he wanted to say, but they all seemed to be stuck at the back of his throat. Instead, he grabbed her hand once again, and after retrieving the flowers, he led her towards the graveyard entrance.

"That one over there," she pointed at the hill, where Scott had lived one of his worst moments. She knew he already knew where Allison's tomb was, but having the upper hand in something as mundane as giving directions seemed to give her new purpose, and Scott decided playing along wouldn't hurt one bit.

They stood by the piece of marvel, noticing there were a lot of different bouquets around it, and they shared a proud look, knowing Allison was still as loved as she had been when she walked into Beacon Hills High School.

Lydia, aware of her dress, carefully kneeled down on the ground in front of the tomb. "Hey, Alli," she said, nose runny. "God, this is weird. Maybe if I pretend on the phone and you just have a bad signal it would be better," she laughed, but this time it wasn't real. "I- I'm sorry I didn't visit earlier but… I needed some time to pick myself back together. I'm still on it, but I have Scott. Oh-" she gasped. "You wouldn't believe it! Danny tried to dye his hair for his graduation, but he didn't read the instructions properly and he had to shave his head. He went bald!" she laughed. "God, you should have seen him. Scott and I sneaked in and we were kicked out by the coach for laughing so much."

"His head was so shiny," added Scott, also kneeling by her side.

Lydia nodded. "You should have been there… I don't know, maybe this is stupid," she turned to look at Scott, who indicated her she should continue. "I kind of think you were there. I mean, it felt like it for a moment. We were laughing, and I swear I heard your laugh at my other side, but it didn't feel strange; it felt like it was your way of proving you're still with us, and… I might have gone completely nuts like everyone in school says, but I would bet if I had turned to my side, I would have seen you there with us. And I think that's more than enough; you are still with us, right?"

Scott wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "She is," he said, voice full of sincerity. "She'll always be there with us; with you. You're her best friend, Lydia, and every step of the way she'll be there, in here," he pointed at his own chest, where his heart was.

Lydia dried her tears, and smiled a thankful smile at Scott. "This is kind of a secret, but I'm wearing your necklace all the time now," she said in a low voice, hand travelling to her throat where a silver necklace rested against her chest. "You left it at my house and I… I know I should have returned it to Chris, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. So I guess now it's mine," she caressed the necklace. "I'll take care of it. I know it's stupid and you bought it just because and it has no deeper meaning, but- I like looking in the mirror and seeing it there; it's like I'm carrying you with me in every step of the way. I love you, Allison. I always will."

Scott, once he was sure Lydia had stopped talking and wouldn't keep going, decided to begin his speech. "God, there are so many things I've been meaning to tell you, but you're as smart as Lydia and I can only guess you already know all of them. I love you. Just know that we'll visit more often, and that you'll always be in my heart. I know you're there for us, and I'm thankful for it. I know that no matter what, you will always protect Lydia. 'Cause that's what sisters do," The banshee started sobbing at his words. "Anyways. I don't know what kind of flowers you liked because you were never the bouquet kind of girl, but we got you these because Lydia thought they were pretty enough," he raised his right hand, and gave them to Lydia so she could rest them on the ground by her tomb. "See you soon, Alli," Scott got up.

"I'll see you later, Allison," said the girl, getting up as well.

They walked back to the car, and then back to Lydia's house. His mother was working the morning shift so they would have been alone there, and back at the Martin house they were completely alone except for Prada, who received them at the door but left after they had pet him.

"Well, that was intense," said Lydia, leaving the keys on the small bowl they had at one side of the door. "I have to get in contact with whoever made that mascara because, Jesus Christ, is it waterproof," she said, looking at herself in the mirror. She had taken off her heels, and she looked as small as ever.

Scott stood behind her, looking at her through the mirror. The warmth he had first felt in his chest when he had looked at her laughing an hour earlier remained there, and with the excitement of a little boy with a new toy and the dreading feeling of a man getting ready in the morning for work, he realised what he was feeling.

He was in love with Lydia Martin.

"Lydia…" he whispered after a moment, hands raised to touch her arms. The girl turned around, and the spark of happiness she always appeared to have when she looked at him seemed to have grown since the last time he saw it. Granted, it was always a little bit bigger every time he made her laugh or smile, but the change was so significant it made him gasp for air.

"Scott…" she whispered turning around, in the same tone as him; low, as if it was a secret, and passionate, a tone that only lovers should use with each other.

Without even thinking, he grabbed her face and started to lean in, giving her enough time and space to step away if she wanted to. Instead, she grabbed him by the tie and pushed his entire body towards hers, their lips meeting in a fierce touch.

Lydia's hand travelled from his tie to his hair, where her fingers got lost within. Her other hand rested against his chest, right behind where his heart was frantically beating. The words it seemed to say always had changed, but she somehow found more comfort in them than before. _Scott's alive_ , it seemed to be telling her. _Scott is alive, and so are you._

Scott guided them to her room, where he closed the door using Lydia's body. Usually, when a man had her in a hold like the one the alpha had her in at the moment, with his entire body towering over hers, she always felt trapped. However, with him she felt protected, safe; like he was complimenting her and not competing with her.

It felt good. It felt safe. It felt _real_.

"I don't want us to mistake mourning from love," he said, apparently afraid of thinking Lydia might only see him as a distraction for her pain.

"I don't know what I feel yet, Scott," she said honestly, the hand on his chest scratching him softly, just to feel his heart beat faster, so she knew he was actually there, _alive_. "But I do know what I'm feeling has nothing to do with Allison or Stiles. Yes, you make that burden easier to carry, but you also make me smile even after I was so sure I would never be able to do it carelessly again."

Scott smiled, leaving a small kiss on her neck. It wasn't sexual, but it was full of passion and complicity, something she always searched for in the lips of strangers. "That's good."

"More than good," promised Lydia. She thought back of the tomb, Allison's name popping out as if she was mocking her. "We don't have to rush things; we have all the time in the world."

They both knew that was a lie, that the next day one of them might die and there would be nothing they could do about it, but they owed to those who had died to life like they were immortal, because death was already a constant reminder in their memories.

Allison, Aiden, Boyd, Erica… They would be forever young, preserved by death as the feeling of happiness and the best memories of their teenage years; always present at the echo of every laugh they would ever let out.

They owned it to them to live their lives as if no clock was ticking.

* * *

"Stiles?" so many different words got stuck in his throat, and the dam he had been holding back from days seem to break the moment he saw his eyes, still soft but with a harden around them; a weight rested on his shoulders and it seemed have physically affected him, as he was crouching down and looking at the floor, folding onto himself as if he was a bedspread, getting dust at back of the closet during the summer. His hands, who were always steady and seemed to never tire, looked at that moment like million secrets wanting to break loose. They were shaking, but Scott wasn't sure if it was just the hands or his entire body.

He had so many questions, yet he knew he wouldn't be getting any straight answers. All those feelings he had shoved down over time resurfaced when he took one look at him, and, even if it made it seem like an asshole, he was angry at Stiles for popping out of nowhere and completely knocking him off balance when the last thing he needed at the moment was a distraction.

He closed his eyes, his mind unconsciously going back to Lydia. Lydia lying in his bed with nothing but one of his t-shirts on, red hair like a halo around her face, looking up at him like he was an equation she would solve, or die trying to. Lydia, head tilted back as she laughed. Lydia, and the first kiss they ever shared.

 _Lydia_.

It was enough to calm him down. He was sure had it not been for her, he would already be hitting Stiles for hurting her, and him; for hurting them both to the point of almost no return. In all honesty, Scott wasn't sure if he wanted to beat him up or hug him until he felt they had made up for all the missing time, but Lydia in his mind was all he needed to stay on his human, rational side. There was no time for emotions, he wouldn't let them cloud his judgement.

"Hey, Scott," he said, and his voice sounded so similar to how the alpha remembered; steady and firm yet a little shaky, serious yet playful. Stiles Stilinski was the perfect antonym, and god, had he missed him.

But it wasn't the time for that. Scott had much more important things to do. He didn't even know how he had discovered what had been going down the last few months, but he shoved all his doubts back into his mind, trying hard not to cringe as he questioned himself if after more than a year and a half without seeing him, he could still call him his best friend without the words sounding full of accusations and irony.

But he didn't want to think of that. He raised his head, and looked at Liam. Kira and Malia were leaning against each other, and Scott bit back a remark that cuddling girlfriends was the last thing he needed at the moment, if only because they looked too cute together to be the cause of their disturbance.

 _Lydia_ , a voice in his mind told him, that suspiciously sounded like Allison. _Focus on keeping Lydia safe_.

"Okay, let's get Lydia out of that place," said Scott finally, slapping a little harder than he originally intended all the blueprints he had of Eichen House.

* * *

Lydia was alive. She was being carried out by Jordan Parrish, finally outside of that hell on earth. She was shaking, no doubt cold despite having a space heater of a human - well, hellbound holding her.

She was fine. She was fine. _She was fine_.

He stood in place, standing outside Deaton's store, completely unaware of anything that wasn't Lydia breathing, her heartbeat against his ears despite the distance.

Parrish put her down, his red eyes going back to his normal green. But Scott didn't notice any of that, as he watched Lydia awkwardly try and stay still. She looked at Scott first, like she always did, and then took one quick look at the rest of the group, her eyes staying on Stiles for a long moment. The boy, who was standing a few feet away from him, opened his arms, no doubt trying to offer her some comfort, but Lydia's eyes looked back at Scott and suddenly she was running. She ran until she crashed into his arms, but not even that seemed to be enough for her. Her hands raised and searched for his shoulders, no doubt trying to gain some levage before she was jumping, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"I was so scared," she spoke against the tender skin of his neck, and couldn't hold herself back from leaving a kiss there. "They were going to-"

Scott tightened his hold on her. "Hey, it's okay," he interrupted her because he knew his sanity would never remain if he found out what they intended to do with her. He didn't want to know at all, at least not until she had been checked by Deaton and she was back in his bedroom, away from any danger and back with him. "You are okay," he said it like a prayer, like a reminder to himself. He ran a hand through her damp hair, fingers wrapping around the back of her neck to hold her in place as he rubbed their cheeks together, making sure his smell on her masked the obvious distress and anxiety that he could almost taste on his tongue.

"You're here," she whispered, sounding relieved.

"I am," he promised.

From his left side, he could see Stiles staring at them, eyes shining as his suspicions seemed to be confirmed. He had the same look he had when Melissa took him to the hospital in the middle of the night when he was eight so he could show his friend support after the death of his mother.

But him and Lydia, it was completely different, as you couldn't lose something you never really owned to begin with.

* * *

Scott felt more than heard Lydia's screams calling out for him as she unceremoniously entered the front door of his house, giving a quick hello to his mother before she was running up the stairs.

"Scott!" she screamed, opening the door of his room without knocking. He held back a laugh as he enjoyed this side of Lydia he barely got to see, the happy carefree girl who wasn't ashamed of acting like a little kid on Christmas morning. And, judging by the envelope in her hands, she had just received a present.

"Hey, baby," he smiled, getting up from his bed and walking up to her, her obvious good mood contagious. "Something you want to share?"

"Indeed!" she screamed as her head went up and down, nodding. "It's from Stanford!" she shoved the envelope in front of his face. "I got accepted!"

"Yes!" he heard his mom from the kitchen, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. Granted, he wouldn't be surprised if the neighbours popped in later on to congratulate the girl, as he was sure the entire town had heard her.

"I'm so proud of you," he said, snatching the envelope and throwing it to the bed, taking advantage of her clear confusion to wrap his arms around her waist and spin her around. "I knew you would make it. God, I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks," she smiled, grabbing his face to leave a few kisses there before sharing a passionate one on the lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

But the smile suddenly got whipped out of her face, and she swallowed hard as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, his nose caressing her check.

"Well, you said you're not going to college and want to stay in town so…" she blinked rapidly. "Is this a goodbye?"

"No," he said quickly, putting her down so she was back on her feet. "This is _definitely_ not a goodbye. I told you I'd always be here for you, Lydia, and I meant it. I'll go to California with you; we can rent a small apartment and live there together until you graduate."

"Are you sure?" she asked softly. "What about your mom? And you dream of being a firefighter?"

"First of all, I'm always sure as long as it's with you. Second, who do you think came up with the idea of us moving in together if not my mom?" Lydia let a little giggle, her humour picking right up. "And lastly, I'm quite convinced there are firefighters in California," Lydia smiled, getting on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. "We've been planning it for months now. You said you wanted to go back to Beacon and teach math here once you were done with college while you focused on getting your Fields Medal trying to solve that impossibly hard equation. I don't see a problem following your steps."

"So you'd come with me?" she asked, suddenly shy.

"Until the end of the world."

* * *

The day of her graduation, it seemed all their friends were having a contest to see who was crying more. They all stood up and made the most noise when her name was called, and even Chris Argent, Noah Stilinski, Danny and Ethan had decided to go with them for the special occasion.

When she got out of stage once the ceremony was done, she ran up to him and jumped into his arms, with complete confidence that he would catch her.

"That's my girl!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, spinning her around. She was laughing and crying, and Scott was sure she had never looked more beautiful, and he had never been more in love.

"Valedictorian!" said Stiles, clapping with a smile on his face.

"Okay, that's enough," interrupted Jackson. "We all want a chance to hug the little genius."

They laughed, and after distributing themselves in four different cars, they made it back to Scott and Lydia's apartment to celebrate all together. The apartment was small, one of the walls seemed to keep growing mold no matter how hard Scott tried to get rid of it, but it was enough to hold all their family.

"You liked the ceremony?" asked Noah Stilinski, heart picking up. He said the lines deliberately well pronounced, and he was sure Stiles and he had been practicing for days.

"I did," said Scott, hand on his pocket, the other wrapped around Lydia's shoulders. Before she could speak, he interrupted. "But there was something when they called out your name that keeps bothering me."

Lydia turned to fully face him, eyebrows raised in question. "What is it?"

He dropped his hand and also turned to look at her, too aware that everyone was watching them in silence.

"Your name," he said, dropping to one knee and getting the box out of his pocket all in one smooth movement.

"You're kidding me right now," whispered Lydia, eyes hard on him, as if she was trying to see if he was pulling a prank on her. "I swear to god, Scott-"

"Lydia, will you marry me?" he asked, smiling lopsided, feeling the nervousness and uncertainty creeping its way into his body.

"You're kidding," she whispered, taking a look around, searching in the faces surrounding her for any type of confirmation that she was part of a mean joke. "You stupid wolf, of course I will marry you!"

And then there was an explosion of noise coming from everyone in the apartment. Almost an hour later, the police came knocking in after receiving tons of calls from their neighbours complaining about the noise.

But no one really cared, especially not Lydia, who after everything, finally got her happy ending.

And, as she once again looked around the apartment, looking at her family, her eyes caught dark hair from the corner of her eyes. Instantly she turned, and to her utter surprise and happiness, she saw Allison Argent, the same teenager she still carried around in her heart and necklace, staring right at her with a smile on her face.

"I love you," she whispered, aiming the words at the girl.

"I love you too," said Allison.

And, despite all the pain and tears, Lydia knew now wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Scott remembered he used to think there was no point if Stiles wasn't there. And for a long time, longer than he would ever admit himself, he felt like that was the solemn truth. But then, Lydia Martin found a way into his broken heart, and put all the reminding pieces back into their place as best as she could with a broken heart on her own. 

Now, as he watched their daughter, Allison McCall sleep, he knew he had been wrong; Lydia had proved him wrong. There was a point in life, and she was his. He had taught him the most important lesson he could ever learn:

_"Ask to be loved when you least deserve it, as it is the time you will most need it."_


End file.
